


Protection

by whitchry9



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, POV Outsider, Suspected abuse, handwaves at actual procedures, mentions of abuse, no actual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blind man in curtain three looks like he's been used as a punching bag. Marcia would know, she's seen it enough times.<br/>She's just worried that it's the friend who brought him in that's doing the punching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protection

**Author's Note:**

> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=2984398#cmt2984398

Marcia had seen a lot of abuse cases in the years she'd been an ER nurse. Young children with spiral fractures from when someone grabbed a limb and twisted. Women with black eyes and broken forearms from when they held their arms up to defend themselves. Men whose ribs had been broken and healed multiple times over. It broke her heart, but she'd seen pretty much everything. Elder abuse, neglect, abandonment, spousal abuse. In an inner city hospital, these things were more common than she'd like. Not much surprised her anymore.

 

So to say she was a little concerned about the man in curtain three would be an understatement.

 

Matthew Murdock had been brought in by his friend, unconscious with a possible head injury. The friend claimed he'd found him on the floor of his apartment, after getting concerned he wasn't answering any of his calls. There was indeed a palpable deformity on one side of his skull, and Marcia would bet bruising under his hair.

 

The paramedics informed them that his vitals were relatively normal, although his pupils were non-responsive to light.

“He's blind I told you,” a man sighed. Marcia figured it was the friend who found him.

The doctor looked him over while accepting the sheet of vitals from the paramedics. “Alright, thank you. Does he have any other medical conditions?”

The friend shook his head. “Not that I know of, and I've known him for a while.”

“We have to ask you to stay here,” Marcia informed him, holding out an arm to stop him from following them to an exam room. “We'll get you later when he's stabilized.”

The man only looked at her blankly, but nodded and bit his lip. He was worried.

But he was not the patient, and Marcia turned her attention back to Matthew. His colour seemed alright, and he was breathing well enough, but she still wanted to get him hooked up to a monitor and get a full set of vitals.

 

Marcia scanned the notes from the paramedics while they transferred Matthew from their stretcher to a hospital gurney.

“He's been non-responsive the whole time?”

One of them nodded. “GCS of seven.” That wasn't good.

“And where was he?”

“In bed.”

Marcia nodded. “So no indication of how he got the head injury?”

“None. No bleeding though, so closed head injury.”

 

The paramedics left her with one of the residents. She was relatively good, but Marcia felt that she would be needing an attending for Matthew's case. Not just for his medical needs, but for his overall care as well. The resident began an initial head to toe assessment as Marcia hooked him up to monitors and checked his vitals.

 

When Marcia changed Matthew into a gown she checked for other injuries. She was shocked to find that Matthew's body was covered in scars and cuts, all in various stages of healing. Assorted bruises were different shades, ranging from purple to yellow with every colour in between.

 

The man looked like he'd been used as a punching bag.

So naturally, that raised a number of red flags in her mind. The most worrying one? Matthew was blind.

She knew all about the statistics, how adults with disabilities were at a much higher risk to be abused or involved in an abusive relationship. Domestic violence was a real concern. And she was definitely concerned that someone in Matthew's life was hurting him. And her first suspect was his friend.

 

So while the resident informed the doctor on call of Matthew's condition, she also made a note in his chart that his friend was not to be allowed to see him without supervision. She would not have him alone with her patient if he was the one hurting him.

 

The doctor on call ordered a chest x-ray, a full set of labs, and of course, a head CT to check for any brain injuries. Marcia suggested an ultrasound to check for internal bleeding, and he agreed.

As soon as his back was turned, she rolled her eyes. He was not the most competent of doctors, and Marcia was worried that he wouldn't take the care needed with Matthew's case. Thankfully, his shift was almost over, and she liked the doctor who was taking his place.

 

Jerome Walker was the doctor coming on shift, and Marcia had a good relationship with him. He listened to her ideas and concerns, and he certainly wouldn't have needed reminding to order an ultrasound. Not that she was bitter.

But she figured instead of fighting with the current on call doctor, she would wait, and Jerome would certainly want to sort out the issue of who was hurting Matthew.

 

As soon as Jerome saw Matthew's chart, he was horrified. She showed him the bruises and cuts, and what appeared to have been a gunshot wound that had long since healed. Gunshot wounds were reportable injuries, but they couldn't be sure that had been what caused it. Plus, the initial injury would have had to be reported. Of course, that was only if Matthew had gone to a hospital. Many of his scars were wide and irregular, certainly not the work of professionals, so Marcia worried that he hadn't gotten medical treatment for a number of his injuries.

 

Jerome called a social worker to ask about laws to protect adults, since neither of them were certain of them. If Matthew had been a child, it would have been simple. But adults were another thing entirely.

 

* * *

 

Matthew's chest x-ray came back and read like a man who had been used as a punching bag. Looking at the bruises on his chest, Marcia didn't doubt it. The only time she had seen someone with so many healing fractures, old and new, was when a little girl came in and was diagnosed with osteogenesis imperfecta.

Also, he had a depressed skull fracture. Relatively minor, according to Jerome, but it was the cause of his unconsciousness, and would require observation for a period. The observation was more for the accompanying cerebral contusion. Something had hit Matthew in the head rather hard. Or someone.

 

So while Jerome called up to neuro looking for a bed, Marcia went back to Matthew's room to check on him. He'd been going in and out of consciousness, which was a good sign, although he wasn't entirely lucid.

 

His friend was with him, despite the note in his chart, and Marcia knew she was going to have to yell at someone for that. But later.

 

“Hello,” she said. “I'm Marcia, and I'm your nurse. How are you feeling Matthew?”

Matthew hummed. “Okay. I don't remember much of what happened.”

“Of course,” she agreed, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. She wasn't sure if it was the truth, or if he was saying it for the sake of his friend, who was watching them carefully.

“Who's your friend?” she asked, pulling her stethoscope out of her ears after a moment.

 

The man introduced himself as Foggy, although she was fairly certain that wasn't his real name. Then again, his parents could have been hippies. Anything was possible.

The thing was, Foggy seemed to genuinely care about Matthew. His face fell whenever Matthew winced, he hung onto Marcia's every word about his condition, and he exuded anxiety over his well-being.

 

Of course, abusers often did care about the people they abused. They certainly appeared to, especially when it counted. That didn't mean they didn't hurt them.

 

“Sir, I need you to leave while I check Matthew's injuries,” Marcia told him.

On the bed, Matthew made a noise. “S'okay. He can stay.”

“I'm sorry, it's protocol.” She looked pointedly at the man who called himself Foggy and waited for him to leave. He did so with reluctance.

 

“Is he your?...” she asked him, trailing off to let him answer.

“Friend. Partner,” Matt supplied.

Right. That was concerning.

 

Marcia did a quick neuro check and then lifted his gown to check on his broken ribs. They were at least a week old, according to the radiologist who'd read the x-rays, but they had to be still hurting him.

“How did these happen?” she asked him.

Matthew scrunched his face up. “I don't remember,” he admitted. “Must be the...” he waved a hand around his head.

That would have been a valid excuse, except he'd broken the ribs at least a week ago, and the skull fracture was fresh. Memory problems rarely affected such large periods of time.

“Well, if you remember, let me know.”

He hummed at her.

“You have quite a few bruises and scars,” she noted. “How did you get those?”

“I fall down a lot,” Matt replied. “Or run into things. It's hard, cause I can't see them.”

His eyes were unfocused, staring at a point behind her, and she's reminded again that he is blind. She read his chart, blinded at nine in an accident, but they hadn't been sure of the damage initially.

“Do you have any remaining vision?”

“Nope.” His eyes flicked to her other side, maybe at the door. He tilted his head slightly.

“Have you looked into getting a service animal?”

Matthew smiled. “Foggy keeps trying to talk me into it. But I don't want one. I manage fine.”

“You have a skull fracture,” she pointed out.

“That could have been unrelated,” he retorted. He sounded like a lawyer. Was that was he was? She couldn't remember if there had been a note in his chart about his career or not.

She smiled at him, pulling out her notepad and a pen. “Where are you employed?”

“We have a law firm, Nelson and Murdock.”

“Okay, good. I'm just checking your memory and getting more information for your chart. Have you ever had surgery?”

Matthew frowned. “I don't think so. Maybe when I was nine? But I don't think they did surgery.”

“Do you smoke or drink?”

“I don't smoke, and I only drink socially. I tend to get lost when I drink.” Matthew closed his eyes and leaned back in the bed. Marcia got the distinct impression that he wanted her to leave.

“Alright, one more question. Do you have a family history of anything?”

Matthew's eyes opened again. “I don't know,” he said quietly.

“That's alright. I'll leave you to get some rest. We're still waiting on a bed to move you to a ward, but if you need anything, let me know. I'll be back in an hour to do another neuro exam and to check your vitals, but if you need me before then, you just press the call button.” She placed it in his hand so he could get a feel for it.

“Thank you,” he told her.

She smiled at him, even though he couldn't see it, and left the room.

There was someone who needed yelling at for letting a possible abuser be alone with his victim. She had to make sure that Foggy was kept in the waiting room when not under direct supervision.

 

* * *

 

They were still waiting for a bed on an observation floor, and both Matthew and his friend seemed to be growing impatient with the delays. The man kept showing up at the nurse's station and asking why he couldn't sit with Matthew, a question that was becoming increasingly hard to answer.

Some of the nurses were considering just letting him in to sit with Matthew, and having someone else in the room at all times, which would be incredibly taxing on their resources.

 

Marcia really didn't want to resort to that, so she turned to Matthew's chart, looking for relatives or others she could call.

 

In Matthew's chart, a man named Franklin Nelson was listed as his next of kin, as well as his medical proxy. That had to be the Nelson of Matthew's law firm, Nelson and Murdock, but it still left the question of who this Foggy man was. It could be a nickname for Franklin, but she didn't see how. The only problem was that the number listed was for their office, and since it was the weekend, no one answered.

 

She stopped by the nursing desk, told Foggy again that he couldn't sit with Matthew because he needed to rest (an excuse she knew had been used before), and headed to Matthew's room.

 

“Hello Matthew. It's Marcia again. I've come to check on you. How are you feeling?”

He frowned. “My head hurts.”

“That's because you have a skull fracture. The doctor explained it to you, didn't he?”

“Yeah.” She thought he was going to add something, but he was quiet.

She sat down next to him again. “Your chest x-ray shows a lot of ribs fractures, all in various states of healing. That, along with your scars and bruises, is making a lot of people worry about you. Are you sure that everything is alright at home, at work, in your relationships?”

“I'm fine,” he insisted. “Honestly. No one is hurting me.”

“Are you religious, dear? We could get a priest or someone in to talk with you.” She got up and busied herself with checking his IV while she asked, just so it didn't seem like she was there to interrogate him.

“I'm Catholic. But that won't be necessary, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, smiling. It seemed forced.

“Of course. Do you need anything else?”

“No, I'm alright for now.”

“Well, let me know if you do.”

“Do you know where Foggy is?”

“Your friend? I think he's in the waiting room.”

“Oh.”

 

It was all making more sense. Matthew was Catholic, with a male partner. She wasn't sure on the current church views, but surely they still weren't supportive of same sex relationships. Even if Matthew confided in a priest, it was more likely he'd be told to pray for his salvation rather than being given help to get out of an abusive relationship.

 

She pulled the chair back closer to his bed to sit next to him again.

“Matthew, if someone is hurting you, we can help. There are places you can go, people who can help, especially if your partner is the one who's hurting you.”

He looked horrified at the thought. She couldn't be sure if it was the idea of Foggy finding out, or because her accusation was false.

“He's not hurting me,” Matthew insisted. “He would never hurt me, if that's what you're thinking. And we're not... it's not like that, our relationship.”

She nodded. “I'm not trying to assume anything. But Matthew, someone has been hurting you, and everyone here just wants to make sure you are safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” he said quietly. He turned his head away from her.

She sighed, but got to her feet.

 

Marcia wanted to believe him. She honestly did. She wanted to believe that Matthew did walk into things and fall down stairs and get injured in many other mundane and completely ordinary ways. She wanted to think that he was an easy target for muggings and assaults, or that he was learning self defense, or was in some sort of strange blind fight club. But she knew fracture patterns. She knew about abuse cycles. She knew when someone was lying to her.

She just wished Matthew would let her help him.

 

* * *

 

Shortly after that, they found a bed for him on a neuro observation floor. She sent along her notes about the possible abuse he was suffering at the hands of his partner, and made sure Jerome informed the attending about the developments with the social worker he'd called. It being the weekend, almost no one was in the office or available to come to the hospital.

 

She went home that night when her shift ended, knowing she did everything that she could, and still doubting that it had been enough.

 

But Marcia was thankful that there was a man in the city who would come if Matthew ever needed him, ever cried out late one night. Because there was one man who seemingly heard screams all over the city, and went to to those in need. She just hoped that if Matthew ever called, that man would come.

She hoped that Matthew never needed Daredevil, but she was thankful he was there, just in case he did.

 

 


End file.
